


The Blackmailer of Hampstead

by merryghoul



Category: Luther (TV), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arson, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexual Sherlock, Asexuality, Cutting, F/M, Fire, Gen, Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/pseuds/merryghoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On an unknown date, a certain redhead visited a Sherlock Holmes and took him on a journey of vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/10932) by Arthur Conan Doyle. 



> Thank you, pollyglump, for the beta.
> 
> Some locations in this story overlap actual locations in London to make the events of this story work. But hey, if Doyle invented locations for his original Sherlock Holmes stories, I can as well.
> 
> Concrit and/or pointing out obvious Americanisms welcome.

We usually don't get a lot of burglars at our residence. There's a first time for everything. At about four in the morning on a date I cannot reveal for legal purposes, the door to our residence was opened. The burglar snuck in with a red wine glass and an opened bottle of what Sherlock would later deduce as a young pinot noir made in the Pays d'Oc wine region of France. With her corkscrew, she cut the foil off the pinot noir and uncorked it, pouring wine in the glass. 

I heard the cork pop and woke up. I put on a robe and walked into our living room. As I turned on the lights, there was a woman, around 30 years old, with red hair sitting in a chair. She held her glass up to me. 

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?"

"What are you doing here? It's four in the morning. I can call the police on you."

"I thought this was the Holmes residence. Baker Street, 221B? I hardly make mistakes. I was directed here by his website, thescienceofdeduction.co.uk."

"You're supposed to set appointments."

"I don’t do appointments, Mr…"

I sighed. "John Watson. It's John Watson. I'll get Sherlock for you."

I woke Sherlock up from his bed.

"John," he said as he woke up, "if I had the chance, I wouldn't go to sleep, but if what you're waking me up for is boring, I'm going back to bed."

"There's a redhead in the living room drinking wine and asking for you."

Sherlock sprang up from bed, naked. He walked in the living room. I grabbed a bed sheet from his bed and followed him.

"Are _you_ Sherlock Holmes?" she asked.

Sherlock stood in front of the redhead. I put the bed sheet around his midsection. "Yes."

"John, there was nothing wrong with the view down there."

I groaned.

"I found you on The Science of Deduction," Alice said to John.

"That's nice. Your hair is blending into your skin. I suggest changing your hair colour to a dark brown."

"I don't take orders well." She smiled. "My name is Alice Morgan. I've just discovered my ex-manager is still alive."

"Boring."

"I'm not done, Sherlock."

"You bore me. I want you out of my flat now."

Sherlock froze. He looked at Alice's arm. Sherlock later told me he spotted faint traces of blood on Alice's sleeve. He knew she participated in self-harm. That, combined with the lack of remorse over breaking into our flat, led him to deduce that Alice is a psychopath. And, as we quickly learned, Alice is a _murderous_ psychopath.

Alice wasn’t offended by Sherlock's comment to change her hair colour. But Alice thinks she is interesting. She ran behind Sherlock. There's a height difference between Sherlock and Alice; Alice grabbed his collar so his head was at her level. She applied a lateral vascular neck restraint (read: a chokehold) while taking out an ice pick from a pocket. I had to pry Alice's arm off of Sherlock's neck. I grabbed her wrists, made her drop the ice pick and put hands behind her back.

"You didn't even let me finish my story or my wine."

"Did I say you were boring? Actually, you're quite interesting, Miss Morgan."

"Call me Alice."

"Alice. Please continue."

 

Alice Morgan has, in her thirty-something years of life, had three careers. One was that of a child genius. Another was she was an astrophysics research fellow at University College London. The final career was that of a murderer. Sherlock was aware of her career as a murderer. It was well publicized in the papers. She was suspected of killing her mother, father and her family dog, but the detective in charge of the case, DCI John Luther, couldn't prove she committed the crime. She was never charged in that mass murder. There were also some rumblings about her being possibly involved in the murder of the child molester Henry Madsen, but that couldn't be proved either. She was spotted at the hospital Madsen was hospitalized at, but no one could place Alice with Madsen at the time of his death.

Alice remained friends with John Luther. He was there, along with someone named Mark North, when DCI Ian Reed was murdered by Alice. Despite the murder being put to a vote (John Luther voted against the murder while Alice and Mark were for it), Alice was found guilty but criminally insane. Her sentence was to spend the rest of her life in a mental hospital. For a few months Alice stayed in Bethlem Royal Hospital. John Luther helped Alice out of the hospital. Alice wouldn't tell us how she escaped ("I wouldn't want any other accessories to the crime," she said), but she did escape. That was part of Alice's motive to break into our flat. I'm not sure why she brought the wine for a consultation, though.

It's Alice's career as a child genius that's forgotten these days. I mean, it's not like those people uploading morning start-up sequences from Thames Television actually kept tabs on who appeared on TV-am on 28 March 1992. 

When Alice was younger, her parents signed a deal with a Charles Augustus Milverton. I should note that this Charles Augustus Milverton is not the same as the Charles Augustus Milverton who blackmailed a Lady Eva Blackwell back in 1899. (And that Charles Augustus Milverton should not be confused with blackmailer and art dealer Charles Augustus Howell, who preyed upon Dante Gabriel Rosetti.) Yet, interestingly enough, both Milvertons deal with blackmail. 

The new Charles Augustus Milverton is a scam talent agent, often going by "C.A. Milverton." While most talent agents will sign you and then get reimbursed for any and all engagements the talent participates in, Milverton will ask that you pay him upfront. That's what Milverton did when Alice was a little girl, around the time it was discovered she had a talent for physics.

While Alice's parents fronted the bill for Alice to go to Oxford to further her studies, Milverton would parade Alice around the morning shows and newspapers for interviews. She even appeared on _Blue Peter_ and won a blue badge sometime in the early 90s. (Her appearance has mysteriously disappeared from the BBC's archives, and she can't find her badge.) Every appearance required money to Milverton. It's a wonder Alice was able to pay for her education at Oxford. (She _did_ stay there to get her doctorate, you know.) 

Alice is fond of mentioning when she first went through puberty. Before she reached 13 (when she arrived at Oxford) her body was showing physical signs of development—you know, she was taller and had pimples and breasts. When Alice wasn't a cute child anymore, the appearances on telly and in the newspapers dried up. Milverton left the Morgan family and preyed upon another child prodigy for "fees" for the right to appear on _Blue Peter._

 

"He made me feel like a freak," Alice said as she was sipping her pinot noir. She had just told us about her childhood experience. "Not only was I Alice Morgan, child prodigy, I was Alice Morgan, fame whore. I was taunted about it at Oxford and I was taunted about it when I became a fellow. It's bad enough I was one of the younger fellows. It's even worse when you have notoriety you never wanted because of a greedy manager." 

"So where does the blackmail come in?" Sherlock asked. 

"Recently. Somehow C.A. had figured out I'm back in England to visit an old friend of mine."

"DCI Luther."

"Yes, John. Not you, Watson." 

She never explained _why_ she was visiting John Luther. Her tone suggested that, quite possibly, they were intimate with each other. Sherlock and I also remember reading about the death of John Luther's wife, Zoe. In fact, Zoe's death was the impetus for Reed's death—it was revealed Reed was Zoe's murderer, and he tried to frame the death on John Luther. Maybe John Luther was lonely and maybe, because of the nature of his work, Alice settled for conjugal visits rather than a relationship. I would've asked Sherlock right there and then, but he would've told me tell me to shut up so he could deduce something important, like a mobile phone. (Much to his disgust, he _did_ tell me about Alice's conjugal visits before we left the flat later that day. But he never told me his theories on why Alice was still seeing John Luther.) 

I nodded. "Of course not," I said.

"He found where I was staying. He sent me a few emails."

Alice produced a few emails she had printed out to Sherlock. The first email read _DEAR ALICE, I KNOW YOU'RE HERE. GIVE ME £420,000 OR I LEAK YOUR WHEREABOUTS TO THE MENTAL HEALTH TRUST AND TO THE SUN AND THE DAILY MAIL. YOU HAVE A WEEK. C.A.M._ The other emails contained detailed information about Alice's whereabouts as well as her relationship with DCI Luther. They weren't explicit pictures (thank goodness), but they were proof DCI Luther still had contact with Alice. If these emails were leaked by Milverton, not only could they land Alice back into a mental hospital—maybe even jail—they could wreck John Luther's career.

"I only have £120,000. It's the money I have to travel around with. A lot of it comes from money I received after my parents died. Sometimes John gives me money."

"So," Sherlock said, "if you give this C.A. Milverton all the money you have, you're stuck in London _and_ he still blackmails you anyway."

"Bethlem was not a kind place for me, Sherlock." She sipped more of her pinot noir. "That's where I started cutting."

"That makes sense. You had no love for DCI Reed when you murdered him. That's why you used a gun. You love yourself. It's easier to use blades on your arms when you love yourself."

Alice nodded. "The therapists at Bethlem said I was a malignant narcissist. That sounds about right."

"Why can't you do this yourself? You're perfectly capable of sneaking in homes. At the very least, I would've expected you to steal his computer and any backup discs he had."

"I tried, Sherlock. But every time I go to his home, I'm always caught in the process of breaking in. He had access to all my police files. He knows how I operate. I've gotten in his home and he's stopped me. I've gotten in his home and his maid's chased me out, even while I was wearing a disguise. And I've tried breaking in, but someone across the street called the police, and I had no other option but to run." 

"I'll take your case, Alice."

"What?"

"Hush, John, I'm about to save a woman in distress."

"You idiot, she could kill us. Plus, we could be arrested for aiding a criminal. And unless you're calling Mycroft, we don't have that kind of money."

"I know, John. But Milverton's worse than Alice will ever be. Alice killed a man who was threatening her friend. Milverton preys on children, even if he doesn't molest them. I'm going to call Milverton's bluff and then attempt to beat him at his own game."

In that moment, I swore Sherlock had gone mad. Alice admitted to us she was a psychopath. She was probably hiding information about herself to us. (I'm convinced she might've had a hand in killing her own parents.) For all I know, she could've been lying so that the theft and destruction of Milverton's property was on our hands. But since I will never understand Sherlock or his "mind palace," I let him be.

"I'll pretend to be your lawyer," he said to Alice. "I'll match your £120,000 and offer it to Milverton."

"Thank you, Sherlock." She sipped her pinot noir. "Would you like some wine, Sherlock? John?"

Sherlock went into the kitchen and found a wine glass. Sherlock rarely eats in front of me (drinking, such as coffee, strangely enough, is a different matter), and yet he bends over backward to find a wine glass for Alice. 

"I'm going to bed," I said.

I regret going to bed that early. I think Alice and Sherlock hit it off while I was asleep. Nothing sexual—all they did was talk and share the bottle of wine. That morning, as he was communicating with Milverton through email, he had a grin on his face. 

 

As I was getting cereal, thankful that Sherlock had actually gotten the milk for once, Sherlock emailed Milverton.

 

**To:** C.A. Milverton (camilverton@milvertontalent.co.uk)

**From:** Sherlock Holmes (sherlockholmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk)

**Subject:** Alice Morgan

 

Dear Mr. Milverton,

I am Sherlock Holmes. I will be representing Alice Morgan in your current despicable blackmail scheme. Contrary to what you are thinking, Miss Morgan will not be paying £120,000 to prevent you leaking her whereabouts in London. I will be paying that amount for her. Together, we do not have the £420,000 you are seeking, but I hope the £120,000 will be enough to meet your demands.

Sincerely,

Sherlock Holmes

 

"And now we wait, Watson."

I sighed and continued eating my cereal.

It didn't take long for Milverton to respond to Sherlock's query:

 

**To:** Sherlock Holmes (sherlockholmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk)

**From:** C.A. Milverton (camilverton@milvertontalent.co.uk)

**Subject:** Re: Alice Morgan

 

Dear Mr. Holmes:

 

I appreciate your offer of paying Miss Morgan's ransom. However, the terms of my offer still stand: I get £420,000 in four days or I leak Miss Morgan's whereabouts to the _Sun_ and the _Daily Mail._ I can take the £120,000, but it's the price of humiliating and arresting my former client. And I might get some money and recognition for it too, like a Good Samaritan. It's times like this that I wish _News of the World_ was still running. They'd love the tragic tale of a former child genius turned murderer coming back to London for her old friend.

Yours,

C.A. Milverton

 

For a few minutes Sherlock stared at his laptop. I didn't really question it, but maybe I should have. I thought he had gotten sucked into a game of _Angry Birds_ and wondering why he couldn't get three stars when he used all the red birds to kill all the pigs. Then again, his hands were not moving as if he was playing _Angry Birds_ using the touchpad.

Sherlock blinked his eyes and shut his computer. "John?"

I stopped eating my cereal. "What is it, Sherlock?"

"Milverton won't take the deal. He believes he's above the law."

"Do you want me to call Lestrade? 

"We can't call Lestrade and get him involved. It wouldn't work. Milverton's been caught by Scotland Yard before. He obviously escaped. And if he was caught again, Milverton  
would find some loophole to get past the law and get to those kids. We have to play on Milverton's level to stop him."

"But we're also playing on Alice's level, Sherlock."

"John, I've never known you could be the jealous type."

"I'm not jealous. I would like to complete this case and still be alive by the end of it."

"You will, John. But Milverton needs to be brought to justice without paying or weaselling his way out of it."

Sherlock thought for a few moments before saying: 

"I'll need to take these illegally obtained documents and photographs of this white collar criminal, John. Then I'll destroy them. I'll not be robbing him of anything valuable. Think of it as taking a counterfeit bill out of Milverton's wallet. It'll be easy. " 

"Wait, what?"

"I said I was going into Milverton's home and destroying his evidence."

"No, Sherlock."

"Why not?"

"Either I go with you or I'm turning you into Lestrade myself. As absurd as your plan is, Sherlock, I want to help you. If we don't work together on this, Lestrade will capture you and haul you off to jail. I can see it now, Donovan and Anderson visiting you at Blantyre House, laughing at you in wearing a jumpsuit."

Sherlock shuddered. "You're right. It's bad enough their presence is enough to dumb down any situation we're all involved in at the Yard. _We'll_ need to confiscate and destroy Milverton's evidence. We go in and destroy the letters and the photographs. That way Milverton has nothing to blackmail Alice with."

"Do we know where he lives?"

"His home is at 54 Downshire Hill, Hampstead. We're going to Hampstead and making a house call. As plumbers!"


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with apologies to the late Syd Barrett

Sherlock and I spent the rest of the day getting plumber's equipment. We had to take out everything we had in our own bathroom for some of our plumber's supplies. We also borrowed some supplies from Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson, of course, was elated to give us the supplies we needed. From a costume shop, we rented plumber's costumes. We rented a van from Budget and covered the Budget logos with some plastic. The costs for the costumes and the van did _not_ come from Sherlock's fictional £120,000. 

(And, mercifully, the rentals didn't cost that much in comparison.) 

With three days left before Alice was to be exposed, Sherlock and I headed to C.A. Milverton's house on the corner of Downshire Hill and Thurlow Road. Sherlock had asked me to bring my gun and conceal it with my plumber's kit. He had deduced from the emails he sent Alice that he might have a penchant for murder. 

After parking our car on the street, nearly crashing into another car in a parking space, Sherlock and I walked to the front of the house and knocked on the door. His maid, Leona, answered the door.

"Hello?" Leona, who spoke in a Northern accent, was puzzled, and rightfully so.

"I'm Nathan Escott-Young," Sherlock said to the maid. He pointed to me. "You can call me Escott. This is Simon Bellamy. We're from Escott-Young & Bellamy Plumbers. We just set up a shop on Heath Street."

"Okay."

"The Government told us to investigate this house. A lot of water usage was traced to this residence. The Government thinks there's some sort of leak in this house and sent us to investigate. May we come in?"

"I'll ask Mr. Milverton first. You two must stay outside."

Leona left the doorway.

" _Misfits,_ Sherlock? Our fictional plumbing business is named after two characters from _Misfits._ Well, except for that daft Escott part. Do you know how popular that show is?"

"It was either that or characters from _The Sweeney._ The maid's in her 40s. Why would she be watching _Misfits?_ " 

I sighed. 

"Also, Escott was a common last name a long time ago, John. I'm going to distract the maid by attempting to flirt with her. You go to the nearest sink and break the pipes. Bash them with your wrench or something. That'll assure we can stay in the house for at least a day so I can monitor Milverton's actions."

Leona returned to the doorway.

"Mr. Milverton has decided to let you in."

Sherlock smiled at me. I wasn't impressed.

Sherlock grabbed Leona's hand. 

The nearest pipes were in Milverton's kitchen. I opened the cabinet under the sink and moved things around.

"You're a very attractive woman," Sherlock told Leona.

"Thank you, but—"

"You're 42 years old. You've worked with C.A. Milverton for at least five years. You clean his clothes and do his chores while he attends to his business. Milverton cooks for himself whenever he can except for his lunch, which he takes outside the home. Also, your slightly greying brown hair is endearing."

"How did you know that?"

"I study pictures of people in the papers until I have a job to do."

"That sounds creepy, Mr. Escott-Young."

"That sounds creepy to most people. I am not most people."

When I could finally get to the pipes, I started unscrewing a piece of the pipe underneath the kitchen sink with a wrench. By the time I was able to unscrew the pipe fully, I was drenched with water.

As the water flew all over the kitchen floor, Sherlock told Leona "I told you there was a leak."

 

Sherlock and I pretended to fix the pipe. I'd screw it on and off while Sherlock snuck around the house, figuring out the movements of Milverton, who ran his talent agency in his home, and Leona.

We left Milverton's home at five PM. After parking our van, we walked back to our flat. 

Much to my chagrin, Alice was sitting on our couch when we returned. She didn't bring anything this time. Standing in our loft with a wet plumber's outfit was bad. Standing in a wet plumber's outfit with a psychopath grinning at me was much worse.

"Should I wait until you get undressed, gentlemen?"

I scowled.

 

Sherlock had gotten out of his plumber's costume. He was sitting on the couch with Alice. The two were having some sort of stare competition. It was like she wanted him to have sex with her and he wanted to deduce her. And on top of that, they were waiting for me to sit on the couch with them. I swore right then and there to write Alice into my black book only to strike her out. With a thick-tipped Sharpie, no less. 

"You seem calmer today, Alice. Despite your calm exterior, you want to find out more about Milverton."

She nodded and grinned.

"The bad news is that I couldn't get Milverton to take my £120,000."

"We don't have that much money, Sherlock!"

"Hush, Watson."

"You're only trying to impress Alice."

"Alice has to be impressed, John." He spoke in a whisper. "If we don't impress her she'll kill us. That's what malignant narcissists do—if you don't treat them like kings, they start to get abusive."

"You mean a _queen,_ Sherlock."

Sherlock huffed. I knew what came out of Sherlock's mouth was indeed correct, but I was still sceptical of his treatment of Alice. 

Sherlock cleared his throat. "The good news is I figured out a way to sneak into his house. John and I went into his home disguised as plumbers. I was able to figure out a schedule of when he does things. His business is open at nine AM. He closes up at noon and has lunch at the Paul bakery on Hampstead High Street for 45 minutes. By 1 PM he reopens his business and is open until 5, when he shuts down his business for the end of the day."

"Are you planning to destroy his photos, Sherlock?"

"Yes. Tomorrow. I'm going to distract the maid on duty while John goes to his office and destroys those photos. You can go back to John Luther in peace."

Alice kissed him on his forehead. "Thank you, Sherlock."

Alice left our flat. 

 

For some strange reason, before I went to bed, I listened to Pink Floyd. Early Pink Floyd, before they went to their progressive rock stage—you know, _Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, The Wall_ and all that. There's a song on their first album with Syd Barrett, _The Piper at the Gates of Dawn,_ called "Bike." There was a line from the chorus that kept haunting me through the night: 

_You're the kind of girl that fits into my world  
I'll give you anything, everything if you want things  
_

It all made sense to me. Sherlock thought Alice, despite being a malignant narcissist, a murderer, and possibly being sexually involved with DCI Luther, fit into his world.

I went to bed and decided to ask him about it before we went to "work." That would hopefully be enough time for my plumber's outfit to dry. 

 

The next morning, I was putting on my plumber's outfit. With Alice coming over, we didn't get a chance to run to a dry cleaner to try the outfit. And, for some reason, Sherlock wouldn't let me go to a dryer to dry the bloody thing off. So my outfit had dried off…a bit. But it was still damp.

Sherlock had walked past my room. Thankfully, Alice wasn't in the loft to see him naked, and even if she was in the loft, he was in his dry, comfortable plumber's outfit.

"Yesterday, I asked if you were infatuated with Alice. Those weren't the right words. You're falling in love with her, aren't you?"

Sherlock stared at me. "No."

"Sherlock, there's nothing wrong with falling in love with someone. I'm not saying you're having sex with her."

"I'm not having sex with Alice. I have no interest in having sex with Alice. Alice can have sex with John Luther, and I will not try to imagine her having sex with John Luther. Disgusting." 

"But you are in love with her."

Sherlock sighed. "If you say so, John." 

"Like you're in love with me, but I can't imagine you having sex with me."

"You're straight, John. Why would I have sex with you? Dis—"

"Disgusting. I know, Sherlock. You think all sex is disgusting." I slid into my wet pants. "What happened with Alice and the wine?"

"We talked about her years at Oxford and her days on the run away from England. She's always felt like a freak, I've always felt like a freak. You know Donovan loves to make a point of it when we go to Scotland Yard."

"And that's when you fell in love with her."

"If you say so, John."

"You do realize once this case is over, Alice is going to stop coming by the flat, right? No long conversations about feeling like freaks or running away from the NHS. She'll have a few quick shags with John Luther and disappear to…oh, I don’t know, Sweden and stand out with a sore thumb."

"She plans to stay in the Costa del Sol, John. Malaga."

"How you do know, John?"

"She told me. The government thinks she's missing, possibly dead. She uses assumed names. And her parents are dead—she has no immediate family looking out for her, which makes sneaking in and out of the UK easily. Very clever. If ever someone issues a European Arrest Warrant out on her, I'll throw in a few kind words and some cupcakes to Mycroft so she can live in peace." 

I scratched my head, then shrugged.

"Anyway, she'll probably invite John Luther over for more disgusting cordial visits of hers."

"You don't know if he'll accept?"

"He probably won't—he likes his work no matter what tempting Alice does. But I don't know formally. She never told me. Can we move on from the suggestion of conjugal visits, John?" 

"Yes, Sherlock."

"We have a case to solve for Alice so she can keep doing those icky, icky things she does with John Luther."


	3. Three

We returned to Milverton's house the next day. The pipes under the sink were still broken. Milverton had the water turned off, as Sherlock and I are too stupid to turn the water off ourselves. Leona let us in.

For about four hours, we did nothing but pretend to fix the sink. We'd unscrew the pipes, screw them back together, and prove to any working plumber that we know nothing about fixing anyone's pipes. 

Then Milverton left to go to lunch. 

"John, I want you to go to Milverton's office upstairs." We made sure Leona couldn't hear us. "Say you're going to the bathroom." 

"For what, Sherlock? The water's turned off."

"Say you need to put on some topical medicine and you need a mirror. The maid can't stop you from looking in a mirror."

"And how do I get in his office?"

Sherlock handed me a lock pick. I discreetly put it in my pocket. 

"We have lock picks?"

"We've always had lock picks, John. Did you think I got them from Alice or something? I've always dreamed about becoming a master criminal, and I thought this adventure would give me the opportunity to try something different."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Are you sure I can pull this off?"

"This is not a high-security facility, John. Just do it. I'll distract the maid. "

I got up from the sink area and went upstairs to the bathroom. Leona stopped me.

"Are you trying to go to the bathroom? We don't have temporary facilities upstairs."

"Yes."

"Would you like to go to the cafe across the street? I can get you some money, and you can"—

"Oh, no, no. I just need to put some crème on my face, that's all. 

I went upstairs to Milverton's office. Sherlock was flirting with Leona again.

"Hello there."

"Uh...hello again, Mr. Escott-Young."

"You look beautiful this afternoon. A bit dirty from being forced to clean Mr. Milverton's clothes outside the home, but nonetheless beautiful."

I made it upstairs and started picking the lock to Milverton's office. 

I didn't hear it, but the door opened.

"Hello, Leona. Didn't feel like going all the way to Paul today. Went a little bit closer for lunch. And I've decided to take it in my office."

"That reminds me," Sherlock said. "Simon, do you remember our friend Paul?"

I realized Sherlock was giving me a hint about Milverton being back in his home. I put the lock pick back in my pocket and walked as calmly as I could down the stairs.

"Yes, Nathan, I remember our friend...um...Paul." 

That was when I first got a glimpse of C.A. Milverton. Milverton was about 5'6"—oddly enough, he was about as tall as Alice—and overweight. He was about 50 years old. His face was shaved and his round head was bald. He had piercing grey eyes, hiding behind his gold-rimmed glasses, and his face was stuck in a perpetual smile, or so it seemed. He also was wearing a vintage astrakhan coat.

"Oh, I don't believe we've met," Milverton said to Sherlock and me. His voice was similar to, of all people, the Sixth Doctor's. I kept imagining him to take out a fobwatch, grow a few inches and turn into Colin Baker. "I see you've met my maid, Leona?"

Sherlock and I nodded.

Milverton extended a hand to Sherlock. "I'm Charles Augustus Milverton. C.A."

"Nathan Escott-Young."

Milverton extended a hand to me. "C.A. Milverton."

"Simon Bellamy."

"Are you boys alright with the sink? I don't believe I can live without water for much longer."

"We'll have the problem fixed by tomorrow," Sherlock said. 

We never did "repair" the sink the next day, but that's a bit later in the story.

* * *

Sherlock told me Alice had this habit of just popping up wherever the hell she wanted to pop up. "She needs to feel like she's in control," he told me. "Let her." 

"If she controls us to our deaths, Sherlock, remind me to punch you in the afterlife. A lot."

Lo and behold, Alice was sitting in the back of our rented van when Sherlock opened the van's back doors. She had a bag of sandwiches from Paul as well as a coffee cup from Starbucks, which was across the street from the Paul bakery Milverton often went to.

"Do you have the courtesy to even call?"

Sherlock covered my mouth. "John, that's no way to talk to a lady."

"You don't treat Donovan this way, Sher"—This line was muffled, as Sherlock covered my mouth.

"Shh. Hello, Alice."

"Hello, Sherlock."

"How did you get here without being spotted?"

"I was going to wait for you in your flat, but your maid said you were at Milverton's with your obvious rental van."

Sherlock hushed Alice. He sat in the back of the van. "John, drive us back to the flat."

I sighed.

"Don't worry. We'll save you your sandwich. We can't be loitering on Milverton's property or he might get suspicious."

I shut the doors, climbed in the driver's seat, and drove through London traffic to get out of Hampstead. I put on some music, but soft enough so I could hear Sherlock and Alice's conversation. Alice, at the least, was talking through bites.

"Mrs. Hudson is not our maid. She's our landlady."

There was silence, but I imagined Alice grinning. "My apologies." 

"How did you get here again? Mrs. Hudson told you we were here..."

"I took the Tube to Hampstead Station and decided to get you and Watson a snack."

"A friendly reminder of Milverton. How nice."

"I don't normally do this, but since you're helping me out, I thought I should do something for others. Just this once. Then I called a cab and told them to take me to the Bombay Bicycle Club. I pretended to go in the restaurant. When the cab left, I ran to your van. I haven't heard any police in the area. C.A. hasn't found me yet. How are you doing, Sherlock? Have you been able to delete the emails and photos?"

"We were close to getting into Milverton's office. Well, John was. But instead of getting lunch at Paul, he went to a cafe nearer to his home."

"We're running out of time, Sherlock. Maybe I can help."

"No. I don't want you back in Bethlem because of a man who'll sell anyone out for cash."

"I'd thought you'd like to know a little something about Milverton's maid. Her name's Leona, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"She's engaged to a man named Randolph Harris. He has a tendency to get very, very possessive of his fiancée. If you'd like me to pay a visit to Harris and see if I can't get him to help you out. Maybe that'll distract C.A. enough for you to destroy the emails."

"You're planning on pretending to be a private investigator."

"I was able to find a professional-looking outfit for the occasion."

"I'll allow it."

I heard a kissing noise. I'm not sure where Alice kissed Sherlock, but I didn't hear Sherlock protesting the kiss, either.


	4. Four

Once again, we returned to Milverton's house to pretend like we knew anything about plumbing. This was, in retrospect, not only the most hectic day we had, it was the funniest as well. 

After screwing and unscrewing and attempting to put the pipes in the wrong order under the sink again, it was lunch. Milverton left the house to go to Paul...or so we thought.

When Sherlock thought Milverton was gone, he handed me the lock pick again. I pretended to go to bathroom; Leona assumed I was still applying cream to my face.

This time, with the lock pick, I was able to open Milverton's office. Milverton's office looked like those offices you'd see on some prototypical American television series with talent agencies—you know, a bookshelf here, some worthless trinket there, pictures on the walls, including a picture of Alice, her parents (I assumed they were her parents, because her mother had eyebrows that looked almost like Alice's) and Milverton at _Blue Peter,_ posing with her badge. From what I remember about the picture, while Alice's parents were beaming (probably about being invited to _Blue Peter_ ) and Milverton was elated (because of the money, most likely), young Alice was miserable. She's holding the _Blue Peter_ badge and looking like she's about to cry. That was proof, at least to me, that Alice wasn't fond of her parents. (And I still think she might've killed them [and her dog], but no one can prove it. I'll let Alice claim victory for those murders.) 

I went through Milverton's drawers to look for any drives to stuff in my pockets. I ended up taking a couple of flash drives, a few memory cards and a couple of discs (I'm not sure whether they stored photo backups, program backups or burnt copies of digital music). 

I turned on Milverton's computer. By the way Milverton styled himself, Sherlock guessed his password...well, for legal reasons I can't reveal the password, but I can suggest that Sherlock thought it was inspired by a Batman villain and a set of numbers. Sherlock was right: I was able to log into Milverton's computer.

As I was about to search for Milverton's photos of Alice, I heard a revolver cock on the side of my head. Then, that Colin Baker-eqsue voice: "Alice didn't tell you I had guns in the home, didn't she?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the revolver, Milverton and Sherlock. Sherlock had a rag tied around his mouth and another around his wrists. 

"I did leave for lunch at Paul. Then I walked to the back of the home, gagged and bound Mr. Escott-Young here, and found you in my office.

"I knew you two weren't plumbers. You see, gentlemen, whoever you really are, I know about Alice's MO. Wear an outfit, scare a few people, maybe shoot them when she feels like it. And I had a feeling she'd try to place sleeper agents in my home. It shouldn't take three days to fix a kitchen sink. Well, it isn't going to work. I advise you, _Mr. Bellamy,_ to take your fingers off my keyboard and to follow me downstairs. The law won't work in my favour for self-defence in my own home, but I can make it look like you two tried to rob me. And the law really _will_ be on my side."

I took my hands off the keyboard.

"Hands up in the air."

I did as I was told.

"You two, downstairs and out the door. Your 'tools' are on the curb. You can pick them up on your way out."

Milverton lead Sherlock and I down the stairs. 

None of us were prepared for what we saw next.

A man was in the living room of Milverton's home. He was in front of Leona.

"You're engaged to _that?_ " he said, pointing to Sherlock. It was Randolph, Leona's fiancé. 

"Oh, no." Leona was confused, and rightfully so. "I think he tried flirting with me, but it came off all awkward. And no, we're not engaged."

"Yes, we are," Sherlock said through his gag. "I just haven't bought the ring yet."

Leona froze, having been able to understand Sherlock's muffled words.

It doesn't seem like it. Why is he being lead down the stairs by your boss with a revolver? And why are two of them dressed up like plumbers? Are you four involved in some kinky orgy-type situation?"

"My boss has ways of getting rid of people from his home. He's not like that."

"'He's not like that.' We'll see about that."

Randolph walked towards Sherlock and punched him in the face. It was enough to distract Milverton. He stopped pointing the gun towards my head. Instead, he pointed the gun at Randolph.

"Oh, you want to shoot me because I'm getting things straight with my fiancée? Fuck you, mate!"

Randolph punched Milverton in the face. Milverton was forced to drop the pistol.

As Randolph was beating up Milverton and Leona was trying to pull Randolph off of Milverton, I untied Sherlock's mouth and hands.

"Took you long enough," Sherlock said.

"Oh, shut up!"

We ran out of Milverton's home. I looked around for the tools Milverton said he supposedly put on the curb.

"Our plumbing stuff."

"What about it, John?"

"Milverton said he put it out on the curb. Did someone steal it? I mean, I don't care if were in Hampstead, we're still in London at the end of the day."

Someone blew a whistle—the type of whistle made with the mouth. I turned to my right. Peeking out the back doors of our van was Alice. She was dressed in her "private investigator" outfit. She pointed in the van, winked and motioned for us to get in the van. We did. Sherlock gave Alice the keys. I think his reasoning was to keep us safe just in case Milverton had fought off Randolph and was looking for us. Alice drove the van down Downshire Hill and off the street.

About an hour later, Alice, Sherlock and I were in Hampstead Heath. Alice parked our car near the Heath. From there, we went to a cafe near the Heath, bought lunch (well, Alice and I did—Sherlock refrained from eating again), and decided to have a picnic in an open space there.

"Thank you for your services, gentlemen, but I had an epiphany last night."

"With John Luther at your side?" Sherlock asked.

"No. I didn't want C.A. to have more info against me. And I wanted to protect John until this matter was straightened out. But after today's brutal, so I hear, altercation between Randolph Harris and C.A., I think I might have Leona on my side. Maybe she'll sympathize with me coming into the house and finally putting an end to C.A.'s life. Then John and I can be together in peace."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. First Alice couldn't go into C.A.'s house to destroy his emails and photos of Alice and John Luther, and now, all of a sudden, she wants to _kill_ the man, all too confident that she finally had her way with everyone involved. It was like she was the chess master and everyone else—Sherlock, Milverton, Leona, Randolph and I—were pieces. And she was in check. I sighed. We _did_ agree to be part of this adventure, no matter how I felt about Alice and her motives.

"Are you sure we can't help you, Alice?" Sherlock asked. 

Alice looked up at the sky, then into Sherlock's eyes. "I think I can handle killing C.A. myself, especially if I can cajole Leona into letting me into the house. But I could always use backup."

Sherlock grinned. He thought before responding:

"For this task I'll elect to take the van back to the rental place. It's too cumbersome for our task. We can't risk automotive failure, traffic or the possibility the police look for a van that looks like our fake plumbing business van. At around 10:30, we'll leave the flat and head to a local bar We'll stay in the bar a few minutes, refusing drinks, and then we'll call a cab to take us to [retracted] Downshire Hill. We'll walk down Downshire Hill to Milverton's home. I don't expect this task will take more than two hours. After the task is done, we'll start a fire. All of the evidence—the pictures and emails of Alice and John Luther as well as the gun—will be put in the home's oven. By the time the police and firemen get to the home, the evidence should be melted. Meanwhile, we'll run down Rosslyn Hill and then to Pilgrim Lane. From there we'll walk to [retracted] Kemplay Road, where we'll pick up a cab and go back to Baker Street. Alice, shall we take you back to the flat and outfit you properly for the murder tonight?" 

Alice grinned. "I have my best pair of tennis shoes already for the job."

I don't know what it is about those two, but they really like to grin.


	5. Five

Back at our flat, Sherlock found three ski masks. All of the ski masks had only one hole for the eyes in them. I considered this a good thing, since I can't imagine us getting away with the murder with Alice's lips in tow. (Thankfully, the ski mask even hid her eyebrows. It was a miracle.) We all had sneakers with little to no tread on the bottom, in case the floor in Milverton's home was to be scanned for footprints. 

We dressed in casual dress, as if we were leaving a bar around 11 (when bars close in London—London can never be an all night city like New York or Los Angeles). Sherlock wore his usual suit, but Alice and I wore jeans and sweaters. All of us wore leather gloves, sneakers and coats. It was chilly that day.

Alice also brought a purse large enough to hold a Glock, the masks and our lock picks. "John gave me the Glock as a gift," Alice said as she showed us the Glock. "He stole it from a murder scene. It wasn't the murder weapon and no one would miss it. I'll miss this one, but I'm sure John can find me another one." 

After we were ready to head to [retracted] Downshire Hill, we did have a dinner of sorts. We sent Alice to the restaurant near our flat to take out some food, and we had dinner in our flat. It's one of those rare moments during a case where I saw Sherlock actually eat food. (Believe it or not, sometimes he can focus himself away from a case to do human things.) We watched some crap reality shows on telly after dinner. Then, at 10, we grabbed what we needed. By 10:30 we were on our way to a bar in our neighbourhood.

I hailed the cab from the bar. As we fit ourselves into the back of the cab, Sherlock said "I've had very bad luck with cabbies. They're always trying to kill me. Maybe _you_ won't kill me."

The cab driver was confused. He was not the murderous type. 

When the cab dropped us off at [retracted] Downshire Hill, we waited until the cab had passed and we were sure the businesses in the area were closed and no cars were passing. We then squatted behind a parked car and against the wall of [retracted] Downshire Hill to put our masks on. With masks in place, we headed to Milverton's home.

Sherlock, ever the gentleman in this case to Alice, picked the lock to the fence leading into Milverton's backyard. There was a doghouse. I had heard about the out of control dogs in the neighbourhood, especially threatening others in Hampstead Heath, but this doghouse was empty. I guess Milverton had a guard dog and for some reason—it ran away, was stolen, it died—there wasn't another dog on the property. Any other night and we would've figured out ways to put down a guard dog without leaving a bullet or a traceable poison.

Looking up into Milverton's home, we saw the light on in his office. I think he was working his own overtime hours. No one can be sure of that. 

Sherlock also picked the lock to Milverton's back door. There, in the kitchen, we were greeted by Leona and a shotgun Milverton had given her, I presume. We froze.

"We just had two people attempt to rob the house, not to mention that brown-haired woman. Now there's three more of you. I'd wish you'd give this place a break."

Alice stepped in front of us. "I would, but C.A. is not a nice man."

Leona gasped. She pointed the gun at Alice. "You're the woman who tried to burgle the house earlier this week."

"Leona, you don't remember me?"

"Am I supposed to know you?"

"I'm little Alice Morgan."

Leona put down her gun. "Oh, little Alice Morgan with your _Blue Peter_ badge. _Now_ I remember you—you were wearing a wig the last time you were here. You always looked so miserable."

"I _was_ miserable. C.A. didn't care about my family or me. He only wanted our money until I started growing breasts and pimples. And now he's going after me only because he thinks going after a woman he used to manage in the 80s and 90s will give him more money than being a good agent. Leona, I'd like for you to go home. Get yourself ready for your wedding, even if it's not trying out samples of cake. Let me take care of C.A. He's profited off of his hapless clients enough. His time is now."

Leona put the gun in a cabinet. "Can you give me enough time to get my coat?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Do you need us to call you a cab?"

"Thank you, Mr. Escott-Young."

"And you are never to mention that you have known the acquaintance of Alice Morgan. Tell the police Alisha Bailey tried to burgle your house earlier, and she killed Milverton."

"Yes, Mr. Escott-Young."

Leona left the kitchen to get her coat.

"Sherlock, can you drop the _Misfits_ references?"

"No, John." He shrugged.

As Sherlock was attempting to pick the lock on the door, he found the door was open. He opened it.

Milverton was sitting at his desk, looking at his computer. He was in a smoking jacket, and quite appropriately, he was smoking a cigar. 

Milverton didn't hear us, let alone the conversation Alice and Leona had earlier. I doubt Milverton had no idea Leona was out of the house. Alice pulled the pistol out of her purse. She took Sherlock's lock picks and put them back into the purse. She walked towards Milverton's desk.

"Not now, Leona. I'm getting ready to send these pictures to the _Daily Mail._ You can't ever be too early to make the next print dead line."

Alice cocked the pistol. "Let's try this again. Look into the face of the woman you almost ruined."

Milverton looked up. He had to grab his cigar from burning his body.

Alice, being Alice, took her mask off. She smiled. "It's three against one, C.A. Leona's excused herself for the evening. And I wouldn't pick up a cell phone to call the police. I'd advise you to put that cigar out as well. I don't want a fire. And you shouldn't be smoking around a computer, anyway. The smoke's not good for the motherboard."

Milverton put out his cigar in an ashtray. 

"I'll allow you some time to delete those emails and photos." Alice walked behind Milverton, pistol pointed behind his head. "And I'll give you some time to do that." Alice threw me the purse. I caught it. "Meanwhile, my associates are going to get what other people couldn't get from you—all your drives. Camera memory cards, flash drives and compact discs, so I heard."

Sherlock and I rifled through Milverton's drawers and pulled out all his backup drives. They all fit comfortably in Alice's purse. I also managed to find and steal Milverton's camera bag. I put the camera bag around my shoulder.

By the time Sherlock and I were through, Milverton had destroyed all his evidence against Alice and John Luther. His emails he was planning to send the _Sun_ and the _Daily Mail_ had also been destroyed. We walked away from Milverton's desk.

"Stand up," Alice told Milverton, and Milveton did as he was told.

Alice backed Milverton into a corner, very close to where the picture of Milverton, Alice and her parents at _Blue Peter_ was at.

Milverton's final words were "What more do you want from me?"

Alice emptied the Glock into Milverton. Milverton slumped to the floor and died. Alice put the Glock on safety and put her mask back on.

"Justice has been served, John. But we must hurry. To the oven."

The three of us ran down the stairs. We took out our lock pins. Then we threw Alice's purse, the Glock and the camera in the oven and set it on 227 degrees Celsius. Finally, we ran back out the back yard. Alice locked the door. 

The run down Rosslyn Hill was invigorating. Here I was with my best friend, breaking the law for our mysterious client he was in love with. And it was fun. I wouldn't do it regularly, though. Too risky.

After turning down Pilgrim Hill, we stopped at [retracted] Kemplay Road, where we waited for a cab in the cold. 

When the cab arrived minutes later, the cabbie asked us "Late night?"

"You know how it is," Sherlock said to the cabbie. "You're drinking wine, watching movies and playing Cluedo and then all of a sudden it's midnight." 

 

Alice stayed in our flat until the next morning, talking all night with Sherlock again. By the time I had gotten up, she was gone.

I was pouring milk into my cereal again. I noticed Sherlock still had traces of Alice's lipstick on his face. 

"Oh, well, at least your affair with Alice was enjoyable."

"Not now, John. I'm trying not to be bored again."


	6. Epilogue

An hour after Alice, Sherlock and I fled Milverton's home, the oven caught on fire. Thirty minutes later, one of Milverton's neighbours saw the house catch on fire. She called 999. Since the police weren't far from Milverton's home, they arrived first, followed by the firemen. The fire happened early enough for all the local televised news outlets as well as the newspapers to write up stories about the mysterious fire and death of Charles Augustus Milverton. 

Sherlock found the obituaries to Milverton amusing. They heralded Milverton as a great man who developed many a career of child stars from those that appeared on CBeebies shows to child prodigies, most notably former collegiate fellow Alice Morgan, still missing, believed dead. Sherlock fought from laughing at all the obituaries. What we experienced was nothing like what the obituaries were saying.

The fire obliterated everything Milverton had against Alice as well as proof Alice murdered Milverton. It also took out the kitchen. I heard Leona put on a good show when she showed up to work the following day and heard about the mysterious fire in the kitchen and Milverton's death in his office.

After breakfast, and after Sherlock had wiped Alice's lipstick off of his face, there was a knock on the door. I answered it. To my surprise, it was DI Lestrade. He sat down in the chair we reserved for potential (and usually rejected) clients.

"Good morning, Sherlock, John."

We stood around Lestrade.

"I'm sure you've heard about the Charles Milverton case by now. You know he's a child talent agent and apparently a bit of a blackmailer. In the area of the fire, we found remnants of a Glock—very close to one that would be issued to the police—and various types of storage devices in a purse. There was even a camera there. Our theory right now is the murder killed Milverton and then turned the oven up high enough to destroy the evidence needed to be blackmailed."  
Sherlock walked around Lestrade. "Go on, Lestrade." 

"Someone on Rosslyn Hill saw three people running away from the direction of the murder and fire. They were all wearing ski masks, coats and sneakers. One person looked to be about 5'6" and had a slender build, and another was about 5'8" and, strangely enough, had a build like yours, John."

"Really?" I said.

"Yes, but they weren't sure. The figures were very quick, and despite the nightlights in Hampstead, all the witness saw were shadows. So, Sherlock, are you coming to Hampstead to help us solve this case?"

"No."

"No?"

"Charles Augustus Milverton was a vile man. I should know. I met him a few times. He'd brag about his guns he kept. He even showed me a shotgun once. He also delighted in blackmailing his former clients. I don't want to solve this murder. Milverton disgusts me."

Lestrade scratched his head. "But you like murder."

"Not when it involves the scum of the earth with his face plastered on the _Guardian_ as some sort of hero, no. Tell Anderson and Donovan they'll need luck to solve this case."

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "If you say so, Sherlock. I can't force you to work on this case. Good day."

Lestrade left our flat.

Sherlock turned to me. "You're never to tell anyone about Alice Morgan. Ever. Never forget."

"I won't, Sherlock."

Sherlock winked. "Okay. Let's look for an _interesting_ case."

 

Scotland Yard _did_ arrest a suspect in Milverton's murder: Randolph. Someone in the Yard came up with the theory that after Randolph pummelled Milverton for thinking Milverton was having an orgy with his fiancée and two inept plumbers that came by Milverton's house, Randolph later discovered Milverton had information about Leona that could've ruined her reputation. Therefore, Randolph killed Milverton and threw all his damning evidence and the murder weapon in the oven to bake to a devastating fire. Unfortunately for the Yard, Randolph had an alibi as well as several people eventually testifying on his behalf, proving he wasn't in Hampstead at the time of the murder. He was released.

The Yard also interviewed Leona. They laughed when the potential suspects were named after _Misfits_ characters. She also was corrected on how the character of Nathan Young spells his name. 

Making matters worse for the Yard, the evidence found at the scene couldn't positively identify the murderer. Sneaker footprints were found in the home, but since the shoes lacked a distinctive tread, it was a dead end. There was no DNA evidence, like a strand of hair or a single fingerprint that wasn't Milverton or Leona's, to prove anyone was in Milverton's home the night of the murder.

Eventually Scotland Yard was forced to close Milverton's case and declare it as unsolved. 

 

For the next week, Sherlock would do most everything around his computer in between interesting cases. His eyes looked glazed over, but I didn't mind. As long as he actually picked up the milk, I was content. 

Out of the blue Sherlock received an email from an "Alisha." He perked up when he received the email. 

"John?"

"What?" I was working on a blog entry for another case.

"Read this."

I walked to Sherlock's laptop. "Read what?"

"This."

 

 **To:** Sherlock Holmes (sherlockholmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk)

 **From:** Alisha [email withheld] 

**Subject:** Robert, Luther. 

 

Sherlock, 

 

I can never thank you enough for your help in the murder of C.A. I imagine him being sucked into a black hole in the afterlife, sitting in a place of nothingness with my parents, Henry Madsen, Ian Reed, and my dog—the place where they all belong.

After C.A.'s death, things improved between John and me. Before, he was upset that I was disappearing to catch up with John Watson and you. Now, we can be together without someone spotting us and ruining everything we've worked for. John wasn't pleased about the escapade after I told him about it, but he's accepted it had to be done. 

I haven't been able to sleep since C.A. had the information on me, but since then, I've slept very well. Woke up quite refreshed in the mornings as well. Amazing what a murder and some destroyed evidence can do to improve your mood.

I've also been able to do the impossible—coax John away from his job. Currently we're in Spain for about a week. John hates that he's not around his job, but I've found ways of distracting him from the job. I don't want him to go crazy in Mallorca.

I've managed to snap a picture of John and I on vacation. I wanted you to see the direct results of solving my case.

I've wired what I owe you for this case. If it's not enough, email me and I'll wire more. I trust you're not out for what I have. 

Speaking of, we've never finished talking about black holes. The next time I'm in the city to visit John, I'll email you. I'll bring another bottle of pinot noir and we can have another sleepless night. 

Yours,

Alisha

At the bottom of the email was a picture of Alice, in a swimsuit, hugging John Luther, wearing trunks. They were facing the ocean on a beach in Malaga. Alice was hugging John with a big grin on her face. John Luther was trying to eke out a smile, but I could tell Alice was right: he was a man married to his work, and Alice and he were in an open relationship. 

Sherlock archived the letter in his email client. "Wasn't this a lovely letter, John?"

"I guess it is, Sherlock."

"Except for the part where she was inferring to having sex with John Luther. Disgusting. I don't know why human beings need sex, John, other than reproduction. Recreational sex seems like a waste of time. Quite boring, if you ask me." 

"You have to admit, Sherlock, she's happy. She wants you two in her life and as long as, say, John Luther doesn't come by the flat and destroy the flat further, we should all be okay."

As soon as I said that. Sherlock got another email from "Alisha." This email read: 

**  
To:** Sherlock Holmes (sherlockholmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk)

 **From:** Alisha [email withheld] 

**Subject:** Spacetime 

 

Sherlock, 

 

Will be in the city late next month to see John. I'll set aside a date for you and bring the wine.

 

Yours, 

Alisha.

 

"Interesting," Sherlock said with a smile as he archived that email.


End file.
